


Livid

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-07
Updated: 2003-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-27 06:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14419596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atSpooky Awards, and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address onSpookyAwards' collection profile.





	Livid

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

 

Livid

## Livid

### by Obfusc8er
    
    
    TITLE:              Livid
    AUTHOR:             Obfusc8er
    FEEDBACK:           Welcomed 
    SPOILERS:           Post-ep "Within/Without"
    CLASSIFICATION:     MT, MA, SA, AU (as a stand-alone), a hint of MSR
    RATING:             PG-13 for disturbing imagery.
    DISCLAIMER:         I don't own any rights to the named characters.
    DISTRIBUTION:       Gossamer, Ephemeral,Mulder in Jep. Others, please
                        ask first.
    SUMMARY:            None. Spoils easily. Keep refrigerated. 
    THANK-YOU:          dtg, Jinniyahx, truthwebothknow1, and         
    

foufymaus for the wonderful betas and honest and constructive comments. What more can you ask for? Thanks to DDIS2Hot for the formatting help. Oh, and thanks to ThumpyJr for not laughing hysterically when I said I was posting a fic. ; ) Also, big "thank you"s to V Moseley, dtg(again!), Ten, Mulderache, S Proto, Humbuggie and all the countless other seriously talented and dedicated authors who have kept us FF readers well-entertained and inspired. Keep writing! If this is good, it's because I learned from the masters. : ) There's a first time for everything...Fly,little fic! Be free! 

More author's notes at the end. 

* * *

From "Indifference" by Pearl Jam:

"I will hold the candle 'til it burns up my arm. I'll keep taking punches until their will grows tired. I will stare the sun down until my eyes go blind. I won't change direction, and I won't change my mind. How much difference does it make?" 

* * *

Livid  
Obfusc8er 

* * *

Here it comes again. The cold rush. The feeling of dread. Strange, disjointed sensations that somehow seem familiar, then disappear and leave him small and alone. He lingers here for a while, stunned. Empty time is passing, but this doesn't concern him. Then, the vision starts. He sees a light surrounded by nothing. Loud, harsh sounds reach his ears but not his brain. He knows he must get to the light. 

It means everything, and it blinds him as he approaches. Just as he begins to reach out his hand, he falls away from the light. His velocity increases, and he can feel a squeezing pain in his chest. The light is gone now, leaving him falling, twisting, spinning, accelerating. He opens his mouth, but the wind rips his scream away. The vice in his chest continues to tighten until.... 

The ground. He can feel a cold surface beneath him. Mulder can't believe that he's alive, for a moment, until he realizes that it was all a dream. Next, he is aware of the frantic pumping of his own lungs. Slowly, his cramped stomach, cotton-dry mouth, swollen tongue, aching muscles, and the reassuringly steady thumping of his heart each make their presence known. He remains still until his breathing evens and feeling spreads to his fingers and toes. 

Shaky muscles turn him over, then bring him to his hands and knees. Mulder stays in this position for several minutes, eyes closed. His stomach begins to tighten more, then convulse. Soon, his mouth hangs open, a string of saliva running from his lower lip to the small puddle of bile on the floor. He coughs and shakes his head. After the vertigo passes, he raises himself to a kneeling position. He feels much better. It's time, Mulder reasons, to examine the surroundings. 

The wall in front of him is white and smooth. As Mulder swivels his head from left to right, up and down, all he sees are white, smooth, flat, calm surfaces. This irritates him. The ceiling is luminous. He puts a hand on one knee, takes a deep breath, and pushes himself to a bent-over standing position. He straightens up slowly and sways for a few seconds. Turning in a small circle, he sees that the wall behind him is identical to the others with one exception. It contains the outline of a door. Not a functional door, to him, since there appears to be no way to open it. 

His eyebrows rise as he tries to remember how he got here. Mulder scans the room again. Nothing new. Nothing helpful. His frustration grows. He decides to make the most of his upright position by getting as far away from his mess as possible. Mulder wraps his arms around his abdomen. He steps carefully to the rear left corner, flattens his back against the wall, and slides to the ground. 

Mulder presses his cheek against his knee. The softness of the clean, white fabric there is comforting. Then he realizes that the clothes he wears are not familiar. They are not his. He frowns. Mulder can't think of anything that is his. Trying as hard as he might, he can't remember anything before the black, consuming nightmare. He concentrates, rocking back and forth slightly. Surely there was a life before this. He knows he is called Mulder. The last time he heard that... A deep voice. Bass so low it is felt rather than heard. The word comes from a vague face. Not human, but terrifyingly distorted. The eyes grow into large, black pools as the memory clarifies. The skin is green and glistens with light from an unseen source. 

Hate. He wishes nothing more than to hear it scream in pain. He tries to push this image aside, but it lingers. It will not allow him to escape. Now he remembers the futility and quickening rage building as he reflexively attempts to lunge at the creature. Why can't he move? He shrinks in on himself at the image of his limbs skewered through and dripping on the metal chair. He is shivering now. 

Mulder hears the whine of a saw. He sees its mindlessly spinning blade approach. Other faces surround the creature's impassive visage, but they are still in shadow. An audience watching his vulnerable form squirm feebly. He doesn't know why this happens, why the beings wish to flay his body open. 

Warm beads of sweat run down his forehead as he recalls the heat radiating from the saw, less than an inch from his skin. It seems to pause there, tickling the hairs on his still chest before it plunges in. His eyes water now. The only sound is the air rushing through his nose and mouth. He wants the memory to stop, but he cannot control it. Bits of his flesh and drops of blood spray on his legs. A suffocating pressure, then a loud crack as his sternum splits in two. The sound echoes in Mulder's ears. His breath hitches. It can't be true. No one can survive this, much less watch it happen to himself, but it is too vivid to be a nightmare. 

There is nothing else. When he tries to think of another moment, the whine of the saw drowns it out. His arms wrap around his folded legs. His knuckles whiten with a death grip on the clean, white fabric covering his shins. Mulder shivers again. A few tears fall, and the memory finally begins to recede, releasing its hold. He is exhausted, making no motion except for his glazed eyes sweeping back and forth. Suddenly, he is aware of a terrible thirst. Thirst is a welcome distraction. Thirst commands him to move. He unfolds and gingerly crawls to the doorway. He places an ear against the seam. No sound can be detected other than the white-noise hiss of a ventilation system. 

"Hey!" Not as loud as he had hoped, but it should reach anyone nearby. A pause. No answer. Someone must know he is here. 

"Water." A hard swallow, then louder, "I need water!" 

His voice splits. This is counterproductive. Mulder lies stomachdown and closes his eyes, but he fights off sleep. He does not want the nightmare to return. His eyelids are drifting shut when a soft clicking sound stirs him. It sounds like an electronic device. His eyes are drawn to an upper corner of the room. He can't believe that he had not seen the small black lens before. That means they're watching. The color drains from his face as he begins to speculate the motives of the beings controlling that camera. 

No. It can't happen. They're going to return. They're going to take him back to the dark, metal laboratory and repeat his bloody nightmare again. He can't let it happen. The adrenaline starts to flow. Mulder is fueled with a strength born of panic. 

Eyes scanning the small room, Mulder goes to crouch beneath the camera. Perhaps it has a blind spot. The idea of those creatures watching him causes him to seethe. Suddenly a shrill, unreasonably loud sound comes from above, where they've installed some sort of speaker below the camera. He holds his hands over his ears, and he can hear his heartbeat thumping away. 

The sound pierces his brain and his eyes squint shut. Soon he is bent over with his forehead against the floor. Mulder feels that his ears will surely begin to bleed, and the only thought in his mind is how much he hates the creatures. He wants to kill them. The shrill sound starts to recede as his body tilts to the right, his muscles giving out. For a second, the noise stops. Then, a familiar whine grows from the darkness encompassing him. 

There's a vague sensation of hands in the background, many of them, roughly wrapping around his limbs. All that matters is the growing whine. He sweats as it seems to come closer. He begins to struggle, desiring to flee. He can almost see the silver edge of the blade emerging from the black. 

A strong punch to his stomach obliterates the image and the sound of the blade. Mulder gags as he tries to suck in a breath. He can see several shapes surrounding him, still obscured by swimming black spots. They have him, and they're going to bleed him again. He struggles, but weakly. The creatures do not seem to notice. 

Mulder's arms are twisted behind his back as they pull him through the door. He allows his feet to drag, the most resistance he can offer. Someone grabs his hair and shoves his head down, forcing him to stare at the floor. They stop, talking curiously to each other for some time. Perhaps they are deciding whether or not his presence is still required. Mulder starts to panic, but he hangs limply from their hands and watches the clawed feet circle around him. A pair of feet approach from the front. The hand clutches his hair and raises his head up. He can see one of the creatures before him, gesturing angrily and hissing at the other loathsome forms. It leans over closer to him, and he can see his reflection in its eyes. Its hand closes over his throat and lifts up against his jawbone. It turns his head slowly from side to side, examining his face. 

Mulder feels the hand behind him release his hair. He jerks his head back, then angles it down and bites into the creature's hand. It screams as he tastes its bitter blood. Mulder yanks his arms from the guards' grasp and regains his footing. He bites down harder for good measure before releasing the hand. He scrambles forward, tackling the injured creature and running over him. The others behind him yell. He begins sprinting down the hallway. He can hear their pounding footsteps pursue him. Mulder closes in on a double door at the end of the hall. 

As he slams through, a terribly bright light blinds him. He slides on the smooth metal floor, and pushes off of the opposite wall. He turns right and scrambles into a wide room. He sees a creature standing guard against the wall to his left. It extends its hand and gestures frantically. He turns to look where its arm was pointing just in time to see the blur arcing toward him. With a crack, another creature's weapon connects with his face. Mulder's head snaps back and he spins, his momentum throwing him against the edge of a doorway. His attacker watches him collapse flat-out, like a felled tree. The body twitches once, then lies still. 

* * *

A deep, almost imperceptible sound. Mulder slowly becomes aware of bass emanating from somewhere in the darkness. At first it is fuzzy...one long persistent hum. Then it increases in volume until it makes Mulder feel uncomfortable and nervous. As the sound gets louder, he can perceive a regular rhythm in it. His mind feels like a thick slurry while he tries to figure out why it sounds so familiar. The thrumming continues to grow louder as he realizes that he is hearing his own heart. 

The sound turns to sensation. With each pulse of blood shot through his body, pain slowly spreads from his head to his torso to his limbs. Every beat makes him feel as if his arteries will surely burst. His muscles feel too tight and his heart seems too large for his chest. He almost wishes it would quit pumping just to stop the awful pressure. Suddenly, he feels a sharp pain in his leg and a swishing, roaring sound replaces the throb of his heartbeat in his ears. 

As it slowly subsides, he hears a cacophony of voices drifting around him. He tries to open his eyes, but something is wrong with them. He tries again, and the right one opens slightly. A creature's blurry form is leaning over him, removing a few bandages from his body. He cannot tell exactly where because his skin is numb. Another one is disconnecting several different leads and wires from his torso area. It comes closer to reach toward his face when it notices that he is conscious. 

He tries to move. The creatures immediately grab his limbs. He sees his own arms rise and hands flex, but he cannot feel them at all. He can see a small cylinder being pressed against him lower right arm. Gradually, tingling and pain spread from the site to Mulder's fingertips, then back up to his shoulder and throughout his body. The pain shocks him for a few seconds, and the creatures use the opportunity to easily bind his hands. They lift Mulder into a sitting position, and he struggles. One locks its arms around Mulder's neck and shoulders long enough for a blindfold to be tied around his head. 

The darkness disorients him. He is pulled to the edge of the table. He bucks as they try to get his feet on the floor. He feels his knee connect with something hard, then they let him roll off and crash to the ground. Two creatures flank Mulder and lift him to his feet. They pin his elbows behind his back so that he cannot move. He feels something cold against his chest. Then a sudden yank as his shirt is cut away. He yells at them and tries to kick out. They catch his feet and suspend him in mid-air. When he feels fingers close around the waistband of his slacks, he becomes enraged. 

Mulder thrashes frantically, throwing some of the creatures offbalance. His left side dips toward the floor, but soon even more hands and arms are wrapped around him. He has no leverage now. He anticipates the worst. If only they could feel his anger toward them now, he thinks they would surely die. His head cannot contain his fiery hate, and he feels warm tears tracking away from his eyes. His jaw is clenched shut and one small drop of blood runs down his jaw line. The hand now pulls his slacks down to his knees. Then, as the last clothing is removed, the creatures drop his feet. 

Mulder shakes his head from side to side and tries to back away. He wonders if the memories of the blade were only part of what they've done, and the thought mortifies him. He is shoved forward, still well-flanked by the creatures. His legs feel weak, and he stumbles. But he walks. The sensation of their rough hides against him makes his skin crawl. He walks silently on the smooth metal floor with his head bowed slightly for several minutes. 

Mulder can hear other creatures passing them in the hallway, and crude nature of his transfer makes him angrier. He clinches his fists and continues walking, mostly because being dragged, naked and beaten, through the structure would be even more humiliating. Finally, they come to a stop. 

He can hear a door being opened. They remove the blindfold and shove him through. He slides up against a slick wall on an equally slick floor. He struggles to get up, suddenly feeling very cold and afraid. The bound hands make it difficult, but he manages. The door slams shut. There is a clicking noise followed by a pause. Mulder stands partially crouched with his back to the wall and listens very carefully. 

Mulder notices a black panel on the wall next to the door. They are watching him again. The veins stand out on his forehead and he stands up straight. They are toying with him, making him wait, and he will not cower in front of them now. He hears a hissing noise and looks up. 

A warm foam falls on him and the entire floor. He tries to back away, but his heel hits the wall. He wipes the foam away from his eyes. The hissing stops, although the foam slowly continues to drip. He knows that he will not like what is coming next. A low growl escapes. He steps away from the wall carefully. The floor is almost too slick to walk on now. 

He wants to see through the black panel....glare into their empty eyes and let them know that he is still alive inside and that they have failed. Mulder stops inches away from the panel and stares into it. There are no creatures visible behind it, but he smiles because he knows they don't like what he's doing. He presses his hands up against the smooth surface, steps back slightly, and spits a large wad of saliva and mucus onto their perfectly smooth panel. He carefully backs away to admire his work when the wave hits him. 

A large jet of water shoots out from below the oozing panel, hitting him in the chest with the force of a well-planted kick. Mulder is propelled against the far wall. The stream pins him against it with smothering power. His skin begins to turn red, as if sand-blasted. Unintelligible sounds gurgle from him and disappear into the gushing of the icy water. Mulder side-steps, and the jet follows him. It pounds against his arms, shoulders, and occasionally his face. His eyes are disturbed by the pressure, so he squeezes them shut. When he feels the water start to move down his torso, he throws himself to the floor and turns toward the wall. His back is blasted by the solid force from top to bottom. He shakes badly, losing body heat rapidly now. He can feel his muscles weakening. 

Suddenly the water stops. He hears only a dripping sound. Five, ten, fifteen drips, then Mulder hears the door open. He turns over to look. Three large creatures draped in a slick, translucent film step toward him silently. Their feet have traction despite the soapy grime. They grab his limbs as he scrambles helplessly on the smooth floor. His arms and legs are fully drawn out. He twists slightly, but that is all the motion he can manage. 

The creatures turn him toward the jet source. He can see their hands move from his involuntary shivers. The creatures holding his ankles part them to shoulder width. The jet rushes against Mulder where it left off, on his abdomen. His body bows slightly, and the creatures have trouble holding onto him for a moment. They adjust to the burden and pull him out nearly straight again. 

He bits the inside of his lip, allowing blood to trickle down the side of his face as the blasting water hits him in the groin. He cries out after a few seconds. The water causes great pain to his already sore body. Each of his legs is raked by the cold jet, then it turns off again. The creatures look at each other, now shedding water from their clear coverings, and let go of his extremities. Mulder's body hits the floor with a smack, and he yells again. He lies still, eyelids fluttering and breath coming in gasps. One of the creatures goes to the door and returns with three weapons. They stand in a semi-circle around him. They're waiting for him to get up. He cannot stop shaking, and it becomes more violent as the cool air leaches heat away from his wet skin. He coughs and expels some blood from his mouth. 

Slowly, Mulder pulls himself up onto his hands and knees. His head hangs down. He fights off a bout of nausea. He tries to look up at the guards, but gray spots still swim before his swollen eyes. Mulder is starting to stand up when the vertigo hits. The guards see his confused eyes sweep back and forth, trying to comply with the mixed signals sent from his body. 

They take Mulder's arms before he sinks back to the floor. His hair is plastered to his ashen face and blood continues to run slowly from his mouth. Mulder staggers along between two of them while the third follows. He is barely aware of their presence. One of the creatures glances at him as his teeth begin to chatter. 

The somber party passes through the door and turns right down the hallway, leaving a wet trail. The walls twist and warp around Mulder as he progresses toward another room. This is a narrow holding chamber with two entrances, and the one behind them hisses shut. The creatures sit him down on a bench. Then they divest themselves of the rainwear. 

It is very warm and dry in this room, and the drastic temperature change slips Mulder into a nonresponsive shock state. He groans to himself, largely unaware of his current circumstances. He is still shuddering slightly as the creatures examine his eyes and mouth. They look at his other wounds, assured that no permanent physical damage was done. Another creature enters the room and hovers in front of Mulder's face. He can feel his mouth being pulled open, and something cool and sticky is applied to the bite wound in his lip. 

The creature replaces the bandages on his ribs and chest where slamming into the sharp corner split and bruised the flesh. The medic then applies a stiff bandage around Mulder's ribs to support the damaged bones. Mulder can feel his face throbbing, especially around his eyes. He winces and groans again. The medic looks at him closely, converses with the guards, and places a wrap over Mulder's eyes. It actually helps the pain, and Mulder is too dazed to fully comprehend this new disadvantage. 

There is a pause. Mulder sways slightly. Then, something cold rubs against his hip. This is followed by a sharp jabbing pain. Mulder can feel the warm, stinging injection spread deeper into his body. His arms are seized by hands and lifted straight up. He's not sure what to do. He's having trouble processing what's happening. Mulder squirms slightly as cool fabric falls down over him. Someone tugs on the shirt, adjusting it. Mulder reaches forward with a shaky arm, trying to regain his bearings. 

The hands reach under his armpits. He is being hauled to his feet. Someone is holding him upright. His abused muscles cannot support the weight of his body. Mulder begins to feel queasy and disconnected. His feet are lifted up and stuffed through pant cuffs. The heat in the room seems overpowering, as if the air itself is growing thicker. Mulder feels the pants being pulled up to his waist. 

His lungs seem ineffective in the heat, feebly sucking in burning air. He hates the sensation of his body shutting down, sinking inward, but he can't stop it. Mulder slumps sideways and bumps against a surface that gives. The surface grunts at him, but he doesn't care. Saliva slides down his chin as the drug begins to take effect. 

Mulder notices that he is being picked up bodily and lain on a gurney. His muscles feel very warm and extremely relaxed now. He can feel a distant pain, and isn't concerned by it. The motion of the gurney causes a sickening whirling sensation. He feels as if he is about to float off its surface. Noises are mashed together in his head, and a knot forms in his stomach. Just as the dizzying feeling becomes unbearable, he sinks into unconsciousness. 

* * *

Mulder sits up with a start. He's not sure if this darkened room is the set of his nightmare, or if he's even really awake. There's a pounding in his head, but mostly he feels numb. He's not sure if it's due to injury, or if his brain is just too tired to process anything. He is not bound this time. He is free to wander his cell, but doesn't bother. The cell is barely longer than Mulder is tall. He looks around, noticing a toilet in the corner and a thick, padded area against one wall. His left side is stiff, and he wonders why he wasn't lying on the cushioned part of the floor. 

Mulder realizes that the relative darkness in his room is not meant to obscure but to provide a sleeping environment. He does not feel at all like sleeping. He examines the entrance. It has a small, square window facing an empty wall. It seals completely, and no sounds can be heard through it. Mulder knows the time is coming soon. They will take him to their sanguinarium and dissect him alive. His stomach growls, and his throat is dry. They are neglecting him, but he doesn't want their attention. He wants their utter destruction. 

His bruises have started to fade, but they still hurt. Mulder goes to sit on the cushion and think. He rubs the back of his hand against his eyes, trying to relieve the pressure. His face is rough with short stubble. It was already shaved smooth the last he remembers, in the shower room. He's been in this room for a while. They've been keeping him alive for some reason, and Mulder really doesn't want to find out what it is. There must be a way he can overcome them, perhaps even escape. They seem to have minimal guards, but he never has a chance to regain his full strength. They know the exact limits of his body and mind, and they push him to the edge constantly to remain in control. He cannot tolerate that. It is against his nature to bow to the will of others. He realizes that they are using this fact to their advantage... 

A clicking noise interrupts his thoughts. A rectangular tray with rounded edges slides under the door. There is water in one depression in the tray and some type of highly-processed food in the other. He touches the food and decides against it based on the rough, spongy texture. He isn't that hungry yet. The water, however, is a necessity, and he slurps it up quickly. The slot in the door promptly opens. 

Mulder considers keeping the tray just to see if he can bait them in, but decides against it. Instead, he slides the tray halfway under the door. Something starts to pull it through, and he yanks back on it. A satisfying thud results. He laughs quietly, despite himself, and shoves the tray back through the slot. It seems like he hasn't laughed in a very long time, even though he can't remember much. The slot is slammed shut, and silence ensues. Mulder begins to feel uncomfortable, knowing that they will be coming for him soon, one way or another. He walks over to his pallet again and lies down carefully with his back to the wall. 

He is beginning to doze off when he notices the blur of a face passing by the window. Another stops in front of it, staring at him. The huge ebony eyes make him squirm. The door is opened. Mulder scrambles up to a crouching position. He is ready for them. Several guards are lined up on either side of the door, all watching him. He returns the favor while they communicate with each other. 

Finally, one line parts to reveal a creature smaller than the others. Its movements are lithe, but more disguised than the others. He supposes that it must be the equivalent of a female, if they indeed have separate sexes, or perhaps a different caste. 

The guards point their weapons at him as the smaller one steps slowly into his room. Mulder knows that it is trying not to intimidate him, and that makes him all the more suspicious. The creature stops when it is halfway to him. He begins to move backward with each of its steps. He could take this one out easily, but the others would quickly make him sorry for it. 

Sweat begins to stand out on his forehead and his eyes burn. It is trying to lead him to his torture. He continues to step back slowly, crouched in a feral defensive position. The wall stops him suddenly. He tilts his head down slightly, still staring at the creature. His hands are up in front of him, ready to block an attack. The creature's breathing puffs quickly and deeply like his own. It stops barely within arm's reach of him. 

Mulder recedes against the wall as far as possible. He is terrified, and not sure whether to attempt to fight or run. The creature senses his indecision and reaches forward slowly, making small, quiet noises. The rough, clawed hand rests lightly on his shoulder. He twitches a little, but resists the urge to attack. 

Suddenly, the creature is in his mind. Its cruel intentions become clear as his lost memories start flooding back. His vision is filled with the image of a woman. His partner. Scully. Mulder begins to relax, his mind clinging onto this one pleasant thing in this world for him. He sees her smile at him. Nothing else is more important now, and he doesn't want to lose her again. 

He begins to feel his will slipping away, always secondary and supportive to hers. But Scully's face is suddenly replaced with the cold, evil visage of the creature before him. He cries silently as he realizes that they are using his memories of her to bait him. Twisting and warping love, respect, and caring into weapons of betrayal. He is furious that they've raped his mind so thoroughly. Even worse, they've insulted Scully's existence, and it makes him lose control. 

He knocks the creature's hand from his shoulder and launches himself forward, tackling it squarely to the floor. Mulder jumps up and rams the line of guards now stuck in the doorway. Two in the back fall, while the rest lose their balance. He crushes his knuckles against the tough face of the nearest creature, and it slides to the floor. Another swings its weapon and he dodges, adrenaline feeding split-second reactions. It looks surprised as he knees it hard and smashes its throat with his elbow. Two others jump on him, all three of them falling to the floor. Mulder rolls quickly, throwing one off of him. He kicks the other one away and gets to his feet. 

He turns to run and sees ten more guards advancing with very unhappy expressions directed toward him. Spinning around, he sees more approaching from the other direction. He dashes back into the cell, snagging the small creature in the process and pulling it with him to act as a shield. The creature is shaking. 

It has good reason to fear him, and the small revenge feels good to Mulder. He is perfectly capable of snapping its neck, and the other creatures know it. They maintain a respectable distance, but he knows his time is limited. His hostage is shuddering now. He finds it surprising that the creature does not resist. It seems to yell frantically to the others, but they keep their weapons trained on him. The creature looks up at him, gazing into the deep hate swimming in his eyes. 

A small hand touches his arm. Mulder is paralyzed as the vision of Scully is conjured once again. He shakes his head, but it will not go away. He is squeezing Scully's head between his hands, on the verge of breaking her neck. It is only the creature. Only the creature. But he cannot do it. He doesn't have the strength to gamble on which consequence is the truer nightmare. His fingers flex, tightening against the creature's head, but Scully's image persists. They have broken him, and he knows it. 

The adrenaline drains from his system, and he releases the creature, falling to his knees. The guards immediately sweep in, moving the small creature to the safety of the hallway. Scully's face persists for a moment before him. He is stunned and does not respond as the guards beat him down onto his stomach. The shreds of the image finally scatter. 

He lies quiet and still while his wrists and ankles are bound. The guards kick him a few times for good measure. Mulder sees his own blood spread on the ground and hears a couple of ribs crack, but the memory overpowers it all. If Scully could only know how she sustains him. He allows a few tears to run, knowing that he will probably never get to tell her. But he will continue on. If he should someday make his way back to her again, he will return with his dignity intact. The creatures' blades cannot cut the support line she has given him. 

* * *

She looks through the window, watching the scuffle inside. It ruins her. Her throat burns and her voice gives out, but she has no more tears left for Mulder. Not as he is now. Besides, it would help neither of them. She wants desperately to help him somehow. 

Before, Mulder would have toyed with the guards' minds while answering just enough questions to keep himself alive. He would have run forward to hold her and made some sort of selfdepreciating remark. She smiles a little. But now... now Mulder behaves totally irrationally, with fear and confusion set permanently in his eyes. He lashes out at everyone with physical power unleashed, power that used to be refined and focused to prevent violent encounters. 

She knows fear is fueling him. He is thinner than he should be, his face is devoid of healthy color, and he often appears to have abrasions and contusions on what surfaces she can see. She knows some of the injuries are undoubtedly due to Mulder's bouts of rage. Scully feels herself turn cold with the knowledge that some of the wounds were put there by combat boots, and she wonders what else they've done to him. His eyes stare through her, the elusive gaze of a wild animal. But for just a moment inside his cell, she thought she saw something else. Something familiar. 

Scully presses one hand against the glass, the other in a tight fist at her side. In the chaos, she sees a boot connect with his face, spilling crimson from his nose. Scully shakes with anger. She can barely hold back her fury. The guards are trussing him up in a straight-jacket, something she fears he will become quite familiar with. He doesn't seem to notice them, even though he was deathly afraid just minutes ago. She can still feel the pressure where his fingertips had pushed against her head. He looked so happy for a moment. So normal. And then he had glared at her, making a guttural noise, with a look of total betrayal on his face. She knew when she entered his cell that it could be dangerous. This was the first time. This was their last resort. 

Since Mulder had been returned, it was obvious to Scully that the military was desperate to find out what he saw, what he experienced. She recalls the interview, where they told her that he had been recovered alive. They told her they were going to keep him quarantined for safety reasons, and that they may need her to help him "readjust". Sure. But something terrible had happened to him there. They admitted that no one was entirely sure what sort of inhumane treatment he was subjected to, but he had definitely sustained both physical and psychological damage. Now they have run out of options. She knows that they want to keep him in their custody, but their barbaric guards have only hidden the information they seek deeper inside of him. 

She remembers looking at the MRIs. Parts of his brain had been altered. Later, they discovered that it had been manipulated on the genetic level. Also, scar tissue had formed in odd places. Places, such as his brain, his thoracic cavity, his spine, that would normally result in permanent physical or fatal injuries. For weeks Mulder never made a sound. He just sat in the corner of his cell. If someone tried to approach him, he would urinate on himself and back away. Mulder had seemed slightly calmer when he could see her through the Plexiglas, but he always frantically evaded any direct human contact. Scully knows that his threatening behavior is probably an improvement, but it still frightens her. 

She waits at the cell window, watching and being there for him as long as possible, even though she is sore and bruised. She makes herself believe that somehow her presence makes life a little better for him. Someday he will return to himself, and she will be there to help. For now, though, she distances her feelings from the hollow reflection of Mulder staring through her. It hurts her too much. 

She knows she cannot judge Mulder by his impaired actions. His attention is stolen by the grunts in fatigues manhandling him now. She isn't afraid to judge them. The wrath she cultivates for anyone who draws Mulder's blood is carefully held in check. Scully cannot stand the thought of leaving him at the base every time. His life is protected by the potentially vital information that the aliens locked inside his head, but his quality of life is not. She won't tolerate the abuse inflicted by his guards. Mulder's erratic behavior has been trying their patience, and she knows that their aggravation and violence will only intensify. However, she knows that she must patiently wait for the right time and setting to retaliate on his behalf. Causing a scene here would likely have even more hazardous consequences for Mulder. 

Scully knows she must do something for him, because no one else will. For all of Mulder's hard work and sacrifice, he has earned no guardian angel. It's left to her save him. She sometimes feels too insignificant to fill this role, but she can't afford to fail. 

She knows that soon the guards will drag his struggling form down the hall to the larger holding cell. He will essentially be alone for another three days, until she can visit him again. The Defense of Department authorized her regular visits to him on a probationary basis. She decides to continue reporting some gradual progress. She can buy herself the time to do some anonymous informing. She knows how to get the DOD's attention, and she knows some senators that may be able to give them a swift kick in the wallet. At least she can be sure that he won't be swept under the rug. 

She feels a hard knot forming in her throat. She knows that watching his rough transfer will steal the rest of her composure, so with one last look, she turns away from the window and starts walking toward the exit. For now she will work to help him. She plans already to call in every favor and consult everyone she knows who could possibly wrest Mulder from their control. One day, perhaps she will be able to see the Mulder she knows again, and introduce him to the son he's never met. 

In her dreams, when she needs to escape the ugliness sometimes exhibited by this life, she watches with peace as Mulder gently scoops up his son in his arms. He smiles down at the face that looks so much like his, and her world is brought back to order. Everything the way it should be. Someday, she hopes, that can be reality. 

* * *

Mulder watches the small one's face hover behind the window until it disappears. He grunts as the guards pull his arms tightly behind his back in the long white sleeves. A medic enters the room with a syringe and jabs Mulder in the arm. The creatures shove Mulder toward the door. He limps slightly, but obeys. The thought that Scully might be somewhere waiting for him to return gives him enough energy to keep going. 

The bumpy scales of the guards' hides surround him, and he can hear their claws click on the smooth floor. They throw him into the room he remembers originally waking in. But the drug is taking effect already, and he feels himself shutting down, ready to sleep. 

He lies down, blinking slowly. As he dozes off, the image, the memory of Scully is lost again. The altered portion of his brain exerts control as he sleeps, and his own identity dissolves. He feels cold, sees a familiar light, and falls, twisting, into the bloody nightmare. 

* * *

The End 

Thanks for reading! 

NOTE: This FF was greatly inspired by the video for Dave Matthews Band's "So Much to Say", as well as XF "Within/Without", of course, and Pearl Jam's "Indifference"   
  


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